Sunday, March 30, 2014

Good Sam Motorcycle Man

Hey Y'all. I've been noticeably absent from the blog front lately...actually from all social media. I have loved this time away but thought I would check in with all of you by posting some things I have been working on in other venues. My post today was an assignment for study called "Grasping God's Word" that I have been taking with many others at my church. After reading the story of The Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-35), we were given the task of trying to "contemporize the parable by writing a story of our own that retells the original story so that the effect on the contemporary audience is equivalent to the effect on the original audience".

Here is my attempt at a modern day Good Samaritan Parable...

He sits there everyday, holding his tattered cardboard sign,
wishing for a miracle.His military-issue
jacket now shows part of his elbow; his beard is stained with tobacco juice—or
is that liquor?His handwritten
“will work for food” banner easily shows every passer-by his failure to
maintain “decency”; his missing appendage makes them avert their eyes.

Now he sits in the drizzle, believing this day might be
different.

The first car approaches; a shiny blue Lexus. He hears the
smooth downward glide of the automatic window.Offering a gap-toothed smile, longing for acceptance, he is instead
assaulted by the ever common, “Get a job!” with a few choice curses thrown in. As the driver pulls away, throwing
gravel behind him, the old vet notices the “Proud to be an American!” sticker
on the rear window of the vehicle. Returning to his backpack, he lowers himself
to the ground feeling throbbing phantom pains in his missing left arm.He closes his eyes and waits.

Then, more rumbling; and hope.Gathering all the pride he can muster, he rises from his
pack and holds his sign to the road, his grumbling stomach giving credence to
his silent pleading.The Suburban
rolls to a stop; the pungent smell of exhaust nauseates him.For the second time today, the window
of opportunity rolls down.This
time he sees a family inside, beautiful, just the like the family he once had. The
memories rush in like a mudslide. Dressed in fancy clothes (had they just been
to church?) the parents offer sympathy smiles.He hears one of the children inquire about his stench, his missing forearm; he
eyes the burgeoning bags of groceries in the last leather seat. The man at the
wheel extends his hand, carefully avoiding contact, and gives him something with
the words “God has a Wonderful Plan for your Life!” across the cover.Graciously, the vet receives the tract
and watches them drive away.He
stuffs the booklet in his pocket of his bag along with the old ones he has
stored there.He wonders why all
these people try to save his soul but forget to feed his body.

Enough for today. He has been begging a short time but the
exhaustion is overwhelming. Deciding to pack up and set out for the place he calls home, he
is sure his cardboard hut he is disintegrating in this never-ending drizzle.Maybe some of his luckier buddies will
have turned in early as well; and maybe they will have food left to share with
him.Turning from his post on the
corner, he hears it, the deafening rumble of the Harley approaching.Mesmerized by the shiny chrome of the
bike, he stops and watches the driver maneuver it towards him.The heavily tattooed and pierced rough
rider extends his hand for a handshake.“Wanna get a bite to eat?” the motorcycle man motions towards the nearby
deli.The lonely vet climbs
on the open seat behind the “spiky-haired” savior, his tears and his
gratefulness overflowing with the now-pouring rain.

“And the King will answer them, ‘I assure you: Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine, you did for Me.’"